


Magi's Gift, The

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e10 Noël, F/M, Friendship, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-03
Updated: 2004-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Wrap up toSoap OperasandUnforgivable





	Magi's Gift, The

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**The Magi's Gift**

**by:** Seshat

**Character(s):** Josh and Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Post-Episode (Noel), Friendship, Vignette   
**Rating:** PG  
 **Disclaimer(s):** Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, et. al.  
**Summary:** Wrap up to "Soap Operas" and "Unforgivable," but you probably don't need to read those.  
**Spoiler:** _Noel_  


The boards and plastic tarp that covered the window frame were a glaring reminder to Donna of the hell that Josh had been going through when she opened the door to his apartment and walked in.  The fact that it was the same window she had thrown open all those months ago when she had felt suffocated by the emptiness of the apartment did not escape her.  Repressing a slight shudder, she took off her coat and dropped it on the couch.  Silently, Josh followed her inside, closing the door behind him.

"The super said it might take a few days," he said, his eyes following what had grabbed her attention.  "Holiday season, you know.  I guess it figures, what with my horrible timing, I would pick the worst time of year to stage a breakdown."

Her eyes rolled at him eloquently.  Josh, don't be stupid.

A grin, which was almost, but not quite, up to par with his usual cocky smile, spread over his face.  "On the other hand, my timing was perfect to advance my secret plot to deprive you of any personal time."

"Not funny, Josh."  But her eyes said otherwise.  It was good to see him smile again.

"So, you've safely escorted me to the hospital and home.  Now what?"

"Now we go to bed... You go to bed," she hastily amended, but not before his lips quirked up wryly.  Before he could say anything, she gave him a gentle shove toward the bedroom.  "Come on.  Get changed, it's late."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

"Okay, so I'm going to make sure that you get ready for bed and then I'm..." her voice trailed off.  He was looking at her, and she wasn't sure if it was a projection of her own or if there really was a question in his eyes, but instead of finishing the sentence as she originally intended, she went to his bureau.

"Donna?"

"I'm just going to use some of your sweats because I don't particularly feel like sleeping in what I'm wearing."  She pulled out an old Harvard sweatshirt of his, one that she had meant to steal when she had stayed over before because it was one of those shirts that had been worn to the point of being really soft and comfortable.  The shirt and pants were obviously too big for her, but they would have to do.

"Donna, it's Christmas Eve.  You don't have to stay here.  I'll be okay."

"I know I don't have to."  Holding the sweats in her arms, she turned to face him.  His words were sincere, but again there was that look.  "I've spent enough time on your couch.  I'll be fine."

"But Christmas should be spent with family and friends."

"So it should."  Her voice was simple and plain.

Realization dawned on his face.  "Oh."

"Hurry up and get into bed, or Santa won't come to visit us."

He laughed.  "Has it escaped your attention that I'm Jewish, Donna?"

"So?"

"So the last time I checked, Santa was a Christian institution.  Not to mention the fact that we both seem to be beyond the average age of the usual recipients of visits from Santa."

"Don't be such a Scrooge, Josh.  Haven't you ever read the Sun editorial, 'Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus'?  Santa is for everyone."  Seeing that he was about to say something else, she added, "And before you start making some smart remarks about me being too old to believe in Santa, let me remind you that Santa stands for intangible things like faith and hope, and we have some good reasons to believe in those things this year."  Her voice faltered.

Josh sat down on his bed.  "You are a very wise woman, Donnatella," he said after a moment.

Her smile was quick in response.  "That's right, just call me Donna Moss, one of the magi."

He glanced up at her, a strange look on his face, and glanced away again so fast she thought perhaps she had imagined it.

"Don't forget it when we're at work and I tell you something," she admonished as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

Brushing her teeth with the toothbrush she had forgotten from months ago, and which mysteriously hadn't been removed yet from its place by the sink next to Josh's own brush, Donna listened to the sounds of him getting ready for bed on the other side of the door.  They passed each other in the doorway, and Donna smiled at the way C.J.'s pajamas looked on him.  She thought she caught a hint of a smile on his face as he took in the sight of her slender frame swimming in his sweats.

As she walked past the bed, Donna grabbed a blanket; she turned off the light on her way to the couch and lay down, ready to fall asleep.  She could hear the water running in the other room.  With her eyes closed, the sounds of the apartment were magnified.  It was like the apartment was isolated from the rest of the world.  The faucet squeaked as Josh turned off the water.  The door opened, and Josh's feet padded out.

Donna waited to hear the springs in his bed sigh as he got in, but instead, the next thing she heard was more shuffling of feet on floor, and a soft, "Donna?"

She opened one eye to stare balefully at the man standing over the couch.  "What did I say about Santa, Josh?"

"I can't sleep yet," he said plaintively.  "Scoot over."

A heavy sigh later, she sat up and made room for him on the couch, throwing half of the blanket over him so they could share body heat.

Josh propped his legs up on the coffee table.  Donna hid a grin when she saw that his feet were encased in the bunny slippers she had given him when he got out of the hospital.  He had snorted when he had first seen them, but she could tell from the worn look that he had used them often, and at least they kept his feet warm.  Josh casually put his arm around her shoulders, his injured hand resting on her opposite side.  With his other hand he picked up the remote control and switched on the television.  "I think there's an 'I Love Lucy' marathon on."

Donna let her head settle comfortably into the crook between his neck and shoulder, drawing her feet up beneath the blanket.  "I think there's always an `I Love Lucy' marathon on," she murmured, her eyelids drooping.

So that was how she was going to spend Christmas Eve: curled up next to Josh, watching old reruns.  It certainly had to be one of the more unusual Christmas Eves she had ever experienced.  But the emotion she was feeling was close to happiness.  The soft drone of the television lulled her into a state somewhere between being asleep and being awake.

The last thing she remembered was Josh gently extricating himself and tucking the blanket around her.

*****

Aside from its obvious importance to the tenets of an entire system of religious beliefs, I have always thought that the Christmas story is powerful in and of itself.  It is a story about faith and love, forgiveness and hope... not to mention those other little side issues of peace on earth and goodwill toward men.  And despite the fact that I am not Christian, I can appreciate the significance of the story.

As a child I was intrigued by Christmas; I didn't understand why all the kids got excited about some fat old man in a red suit, because of course, when I asked, my classmates generally told me that Christmas was all about Santa, and I don't think that they were adequately able to explain, as Donna did yesterday, the deeper meaning of Santa Claus.

The first time someone told me the story of Christmas, I have to admit that I wasn't impressed with the immaculate conception (not knowing at the time what conception usually involved in the first place).  I felt sorry for the people who had to have their baby in a barn.  I was rather interested by the angel speaking to people to herald this baby's birth.  But I think the characters that I liked the best were the magi.  To me, it was fascinating how these men, these kings (and aren't the heroes of most childhood fantasies knights or kings?) traveled a tremendous distance, following a star, and bearing gifts for a new child brought into this world in a cold and lonely barn.

What can I say?  The woman who enlightened me as to how Christmas started (the mother of one of my childhood friends) was a great storyteller, although her proficiency at theology, or lack thereof depending on your point of view, might have drawn disapproval from the Mary Marshes of the world.

I sometimes wonder what Mrs. Stevenson was thinking as she told me the story.  Hearing it in the words of someone else, maybe I would have been bored to tears, but Mrs. Stevenson knew what a seven-year-old boy wanted to hear, and so I got an adventure story about three idealistic magi.  As the years passed, and I heard the story again, the significance of the story to many people and its inherent power became more apparent.  But in some holdover from childhood, I have always had a special appreciation for the magi: for their wisdom and their spirit, for their faith and their love.

This day I have been blessed with three magi: two wise men and a wise woman, if you will.

I suppose another way to look at them might be as the ghost of Christmas past, the ghost of Christmas present, and the ghost of Christmas future, but rather than dwell on the rather depressing Dickensian parallels, which would place me in the unflattering role of Scrooge, I prefer to focus on the gifts that my friends, and most of all these three extraordinary people, have given me.

I am thankful that Leo had the experience and the kindness to light the way for a friend in need.  He reminded me of my father yesterday.  My father too was the type who would jump into a pit with a friend.  Would it undermine my manliness if I admitted that there were tears forming in my eyes when Leo told me that I would have a job as long as he did?  As Stanley earlier said, "Thank God for Leo."  He recognized my despair when I was trying my damnedest not to see it myself.  He recognized it from his own darkness, and even though I am certain that it dredged up painful memories of his own, he drew from his past and he forced me to get the help I needed.

I am grateful that Stanley had the patience and knowledge to soothe a troubled soul.  In future years, when Christmas Eve rolls around again, I will always remember this man, this healer, who had the perception to see through my bullshit and the words to help me let it go.  He made me face the fear I was burying inside.

And above all I am blessed with the presence of Donnatella Moss.  She has been by my side ever since that morning I woke up in the hospital.  And despite my tendencies toward being an asshole at times, she seems determined to remain here.

It's funny how last night she called herself one of the magi.

Perhaps it wasn't such an extraordinary coincidence, seeing as I did tell her that she was wise, and the season might naturally lead to the same train of thought that I have followed.  Yet I have a sneaking suspicion that her words from three weeks ago, that she is "in tune" to me, are closer to the truth than either one of us would admit.

And last night she stayed. I know I shouldn't have let her.  She was about to go, I think, but typical of her perspicacity, she read the unspoken message and stayed.  So now I'm sitting on my coffee table, waiting for her to wake up this morning.  This morning that is a day of worship and holiness for half of the world, and will from now on be a day of thanks for me.  I have received such gifts from all of my friends, these people who I realize care for me like a family.

It's ridiculous; I am as excited as a child who knows that Santa has been to visit.

I am alive, and I am for the most part whole, and I can't wait for Donna to open her eyes.

Okay, she might be a little startled to wake up on Christmas morning and find her boss sitting here watching her sleep, and she might be puzzled by the goofy grin on my face, but right now the only thing keeping me from waking her is the peacefulness of the golden lashes resting over those delicate shadows under her eyes, shadows that remind me of the worry I have caused her over the past few days, weeks, and yes, even months.

So I let her sleep, and I wait until those blue eyes open and I can tell her thank you.  Thank you, Donnatella, for the gift of your wisdom and your faith and your generosity of spirit. 


End file.
